Page 1 of Hard Asset

Chapter One

The pounding beat of the music filtered into the street as Evan stepped out of his black Maserati. He brushed past the line of partygoers, flashing the highly coveted silver feather that had been given to VIP guests. Evan Tredioux had secured an invitation to the elite gala through a military buddy who’d recently become a senator. A casual mention of the party over cocktails at a five-thousand-a-head fundraiser had opened possibilities. A few texts later, and he’d been assured an invite.

Dom Marretta, CEO of Tri-Trylle, hosted the lavish, once-a-year event that served to bring together the country’s top influencers. From LA to New York, nearly a hundred of the most relevant men and women gathered to celebrate, to see and be seen. Film stars, beacons of industry, scientists, athletes, musicians, and the ultra-interesting all indulged in champagne and top culinary delights.

For weeks, Evan had suspected sensitive data had been systematically stolen from Emerson Industries, where they’d engaged government contracts, developing top-secret state-of-the-art technologies. Discrepancies in dates assigned to the files had raised red flags but he had no proof. Without concrete evidence, he’d been reluctant to alarm his friend and boss, Garrett Emerson, but had made up his mind to go to him tomorrow and tell him everything. Suspecting he’d been followed for the past few days, Evan had planted a thumb drive of sensitive data with a known white hat hacker, Selby Reynolds, who worked for his friend Lars Elliott. Both individuals were highly competent hackers, and most importantly, they could be trusted should he go missing.

It was well known that Dom Marretta had his hands into selling secrets. From gossip to the latest software developments, he stole, traded, and lied, and covered it all up like a pro. Three years ago, Marretta had been implicated in an attempt to steal data from Emerson Industries, but the key witness went missing as did several pieces of evidence, so it never even made it to trial. Evan suspected if he did a little snooping around Dom’s personal office in his home, he’d find at least a clue as to who was messing around in their data.

Adding fuel to the fire, Evan had been tipped off by a friend in the government that an asset would be in attendance tonight, but he couldn’t say who. It was suspected foreign nationals were planning a meeting and Marretta had his sticky fingers in the pot. Evan didn’t know if the suspected targets were in attendance or guilty of planning any crimes against the state. They could have been planning to trade cookie recipes for all he knew, but he suspected they were sharing information regarding stolen data and technologies. If his suspicion was correct, Emerson Industries’ own prototypes could be utilized against allied armed forces. Much of their data still reflected theories but it was light years ahead of their adversaries. Given the volatile state of affairs, leaked secrets, even small ones, could aid terrorist attacks.

Arriving fashionably late ensured Evan that the intoxicated host and the partygoers were relaxed into the night, less likely to notice his activities. Successfully passing through the security check, he strolled into the foyer and brushed past a group of men who were speaking in French, discussing their most recent visit to LA. As he stepped into an enormous living room, a dark and sensual mood filtered throughout; muted conversations had been swallowed into the driving bass that reverberated throughout the contemporary space. Dimly lit bubbled glass light fixtures dangled from the ceiling, illuminating a sea of undulating bodies moving to the music.

Evan gave a cool smile, making his way through the crowd. He spotted a perky blonde at the bar, and her presence set off a cautionary alarm. Although he recalled that she’d occasionally skydived with their group, there was nothing particularly remarkable about her that would garner an invitation and he suspected she had ties to Marretta.

As he stepped outside onto the back porch, he scanned the secluded property. Lanterns of various sizes lit up the perfectly manicured lawn. He glanced to a half dozen topless women who floated in the pool upon glittering golden blow-up swans, their incessant laughter echoing into the night.

Evan accepted a glass of champagne offered by a waiter and kept moving, carefully negotiating the room like a shark seeking its prey. More of a whiskey-straight-up sort, he wasn’t much for the bubbly, but for tonight, he’d blend. While pretending to watch the seductive mermaids, out of his peripheral vision he caught sight of a third-story window. Shadows danced in the light behind a curtain, alerting him that the party wasn’t limited to the first floor. Interesting.

As he made his way back toward the living room, he caught sight of the domineering billionaire. At six foot two inches, Dom Marretta was slightly shorter than Evan. Wearing a fitted royal-blue suit, the ruthless host appeared like the dictator he was. But Evan knew otherwise. Although Marretta had never spent a day in jail, he’d been a suspect in thirteen deaths, not to mention the countless missing persons once in his employ. Anyone stupid enough to sue him found their lawsuit quickly dismissed, courtesy of his legal eagles and bought judges.

“Evan.” Marretta gave a boisterous wave.

“Dom Marretta. Finally we meet. Thanks so much for the invite, buddy.” Evan’s lips curled as he approached. Long ago he’d learned to control his emotions. The surge of anger that pulsed through his veins was tempered by the deliberate decision to remain calm. As he extended his hand, Evan’s eyes locked on Marretta’s, and he forced an easy laugh, appealing to his host’s misogynistic tendencies. “Nice work on the pool scene. Those are some sweet birds ya got going on.”

“Nothing but breasts. Haha, I knew you’d be a ladies’ man.”

“That I am. Excellent party.”

“It appears we have mutual friends,” Dom mentioned casually, ignoring the compliment.

“You know how it is. Leaving the force never breaks bonds. Our brothers are everywhere.”

“So I hear. So I hear. Well, whichever friends you have must have the utmost respect for you for mine to trust them. You are aware of the rules?”

“Absolutely.” Evan had been briefed. No gifts. No weapons. No smoking. No guests of guests. No fucking the help. And no matter what you see, illegal or not, you look away and keep your fucking mouth shut. Talk about what happened at the party or who you saw, there was a good chance you’d end up missing. Evan nodded and smiled. “No worries. Just here to enjoy the swans.”

“Those are some fucking hot swans, yeah? Who’s a pretty bird?” He laughed. His attention drifted to a set of redheaded triplets congregating in the foyer. “If you’ll excuse me, some fresh ones just flew in and I think they’ll be looking to join my flock. Cardinals. Three is my lucky number tonight.”

“Enjoy.” Evan’s smile faded as Dom turned his back to him. Women were a known weakness to the billionaire, his indiscretions regularly splashed across the tabloids.

Evan glanced to a balcony above the foyer, where guests mingled. He noted the guards blocking access to the hallways, and reasoned he’d have to devise a ploy to pass them to join the private party on the third floor. Thriving on challenges, Evan ascended the winding staircase, its intricately designed wrought iron rail twisting to the top. As he reached the landing, he smiled, scanning the scene for a patsy.

It took only seconds before selecting the perfect diversion. A thin blonde sipped a martini at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a twenty-something man whose muscles bulged through his two-sizes-too-small white T-shirt. The transparent material stretched tightly, his erect nipples and chest hair straining against the fabric. The beauty gave a pained smile as he slid his palm over her shoulder. His voice boomed throughout the room, and although he drew the occasional side eye from the crowd, no one intervened.

Evan inwardly laughed, giving a nod to a group of gorgeous women in the corner. No time for ladies tonight, he advanced toward his mark. He casually slipped his hand inside his pocket, sliding a finger into the hidden compartment. The size of a pencil eraser, the wisp of poisoned paper adhered to his finger. Initial testing of the organic prototype had proven successful in incapacitating an adult within fifteen seconds. Odorless, dissolvable on contact, the stamp was activated upon contact with blood, saliva, or sensitive mucous membranes such as the mouth or genitals, and of course, tonight’s option, upon ingestion. The short-lived results of one dose lasted exactly ten minutes. Victims never recalled the incident or the means of delivery, and no long-term effects had been observed. Heart rate and other vital signs remained intact yet no known antidote existed to revive the intended unconscious state. The wafer-thin weapon had been utilized in human trials, but the neophyte technology was only available to government agencies.

Evan eyed the man’s cocktail as he set it on the bar, and increased his pace, advancing toward his target. His gait swayed as he pretended to be drunk.

“Pete. Pete…it’s me, Patrick.” Evan slurred his words as he stumbled toward the mark. Patrick had always been a favorite alias and slipped off his tongue as truth. As he lifted the stranger’s drink, his finger dipped into the beverage, releasing the poison. Evan lifted it to his lips and continued. “It’s been what? Three years since we ran the San Fran marathon. No, no…wait…was it two years ago?”

“What the hell, man? That’s my drink there, asshole.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. My bad.” Evan glanced to the glass and set it down gently, careful not to spill the liquid. He curled a finger at the bartender. “Hey, can I get a rum and Coke? I went to the john and someone jacked my drink. Can you believe that shit can happen at a shindig like this?”

“You sure you want another?” the muscle-bound stranger asked with a condescending tone.

“Two years, right? Geez, it was foggy that day. I could hardly see.” Evan paused to accept his drink from the barkeep and took a sip. “I’m getting ready to run Boston this year but I usually stick to the West Coast.”